


Ash & Rust

by Magnetism_bind



Series: Smoking Remnants [2]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Angry Sex, Angst, Banter, Dubious Consent, Fucked Up Bond, Handcuffs, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, New Relationship, Past psychological abuse, Rimming, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Stabbing, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months later, Bond and Q are still figuring out whatever this is they have between them.</p><p>Then Q's past comes into play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel because I obviously have a hard time letting go. 
> 
> Yeah, so fair warning. This isn't going to be anywhere as long as Smoke and Chains. I'm thinking around seven chapters right now, but we'll see. 
> 
> Also I feel there should be more tags, but I can't think of any at the moment.

_Six months later:  
_

Bond doesn't do this sort of thing, but apparently he's doing it with Q. They keep their separate residences. They fuck at both. They fuck more at Bond’s, because Q can’t be as distracted by work there. Bond’s bed is spacious and comfortable. The hours spent there are well spent hours indeed.

Of all the people in the entire world, it’s this skinny man whose real name he doesn’t even know, who caught him as easily as leaving out a trap. A treacherously tender man who looks at Bond as though he sees something truly fascinating.

There's a part of Bond that knows it's fucked up. The thing is, he doesn't particularly care.

He'll take it.

This is how it goes. He goes on missions and returns. Q is there.

He'll take it.

* * *

Q never envisioned this as part of his life. He's never been one for relationships. Honestly he doesn't see the point. But he likes Bond, likes the pattern of them being together. Beyond that he truly enjoys working at MI6, and that's new too. The simple pleasure of enjoying his daily work, work that’s genuinely interesting. For once he doesn’t find the office atmosphere stifling.

Sometimes Q wonders how long it can last.

* * *

Q doesn’t care to discuss his past. It’s not of importance at the moment. Each part of his life is carefully compartmentalized, and he moves through them with ease, shutting them behind him when he's done.

With Bond, it’s both simple and difficult to keep up that pattern.

He knows Bond. But there are still secrets in the man’s skin, doors that Q can’t find the key to. Drawn veils that he can’t pull aside. Walls he cannot scale. It’s the secrets that keep Q entwined in Bond. Each reveal leaves him hungry for more.

*  *  *

If you had told Q five years ago that one day he would find himself in the kitchen of a British secret agent, making pasta while the agent himself showers after returning from Belgrade, he wouldn’t have believed you. He’s not sure he believes it now.

Bond wanders through the kitchen naked, rubbing at his hair with a towel. “Is it ready yet?”

“In a minute.” Q stirs the sauce in a perfunctory manner.

Bond drapes the towel over a chair and opens the refrigerator. Q watches his arse as he leans down to reach for a beer. _Utter perfection_. It's official. He's gone soft.

Bond straightens up, looking at him as he gets out the bottle opener. “Your sauce is burning.”

“Shit.”

Bond just snickers.

* * *

Bond buys a kettle. He never used to be home long enough to use one. Now it’s constantly in use.

* * *

_Two months in:_

“Do you trust me?” Bond asks. They’re in bed. Bond’s just returned from a two week mission in Beirut. There’s a hungry edge to his kisses tonight that Q finds unbearably arousing.

Q crosses his hands behind his head. “Should I?”

Bond holds up the handcuffs, dangling them silently, asking for permission.

Q’s stomach is taut. “Go on then.”

Bond kisses his belly, leaning down to bite at Q’s hip. He straddles Q, leaning over him to fasten the cuffs between the break in the headboard. Once they’re secure, Bond sits back, gazing down at Q thoughtfully.

“Is there more to your plan, or is this it?”

“Oh, there’s more.” Bond assures him. He climbs off Q and goes to pour himself a drink.

Q pulls at the handcuffs. “How long is it going to take?” He has work to do. Sex wasn't supposed to last more than an hour tonight.

“Quit your moaning.” Bond takes a sip. Vodka slides down his throat and he closes his eyes. “Or I’ll give you something to moan about.”

Q sighs. “I wish you would.” He wonders what Bond has in mind.

“Oh, I will.” Bond takes another sip and sets his glass down. He glances over his shoulder at Q. “Look at you.” _Christ_. Q’s a fucking work of art in a private gallery of his own.

“Like what you see?” Q raises an eyebrow.

“You have no idea.” Bond picks up the lube sitting on the bedside table. They stopped using condoms for good around a month ago. Bond objected at first; he’s had a few brushes with unpleasantness, but Q doesn’t care as long as he gets tested. He likes the feel of Bond bare inside him, likes dissolving into that heat as it pools in his belly.

Bond returns to the bed, straddling Q once more. He pours a generous amount into his right hand.

Q twitches his hips and Bond swears. “Stop that.” He slicks his fingers before reaching down between his legs.

“What’re you,” Q’s breath catches as he realizes what Bond is doing.

“Shut up. I’m concentrating.” It’s been a while. Bond grimaces slightly, working himself slowly open. Q’s watching him, lips parted, breathing so silently, Bond checks to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep.

“You ready?”

“Are you sure?” Q looks up at him. Bond's so close to his cock, he can barely focus on anything else.

Bond pauses. “You don’t want to?” They’ve never talked about it, but he assumed that Q wouldn’t mind. That he’d want to.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Q mutters. “I simply want to make sure you want to.”

“I’d hardly be sitting here with my fingers in my arse if I didn’t.” Bond tells him. He pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheet. “Yes, or no, which is it to be?”

“Are you joking?” Q blinks at him. “Yes, of course.”

Bond smiles as he positions himself over Q’s cock. It brushes against him eagerly, then he sinks down slowly, taking Q inside his body, one inch at a time.

Q’s eyelids flutter and the sound that comes out of his mouth is so desperately _wanting_ that Bond’s own shaft hardens in response. He rests there on his knees, balancing carefully on Q’s cock. It’s a little uncomfortable, but he knows soon enough the pleasure will overtake that. He takes a deep breath and moves.

“I wish I could touch you,” Q murmurs. “I want to stroke you, kiss you, all of you. Kiss your cock and your belly, your lips and thighs until you know how beautiful you are, my broadsword.”

He’s said things like this before, but it’s usually when Bond is drunk and crawling over him, teasing him until Q gives in to his sloppy, needy kisses. Now he’s saying it and Bond is sober enough to stare at down at him, and then move faster, letting Q’s words burn into his brain.

Q continues, watching the beads of pre-come drip from Bond’s cock down upon his belly. “I’d spread my hands over your thighs, pushing them so far apart until I can see all of you, from your balls to your hole, and I’d lick you there, until you came from my tongue alone.”

Bond groans, clenching around Q urgently. Fuck, he remembers how good this feels, settling into it, letting Q fill him up.

“Go on.” Q urges him. “Come on.”

Bond drags his hand over his cock half a dozen times, and then he’s coming, shooting over Q’s chest. He holds Q there inside him until the man joins him, pleasure engulfing both of them.

Bond rolls off Q and lies there on his back.

“Uncuff me.” Q strains against the cuffs.

Bond reaches up to release him, then sinks back down on the bed. His legs are trembling, as though he’s been running a long distance and only just stopped. Q lies beside him, resting his arm across Bond’s stomach.

“I didn’t think you’d want that.” Bond is a contradiction in many ways, but Q has simply assumed that he’d always prefer to be on top. Apparently, he’d been mistaken.

“Yes, you did.” Bond turns so Q’s lying against his chest, draping a leg over him.

“All right, yes, I did think that deep down you wanted it.” He kisses Bond’s chest, a whisper of a kiss.

“But you never asked.”

“And look where it led.” Q closes his eyes. “Much better than the last time you handcuffed me.”

Bond chuckles.

Q doesn’t have to ask. He knows they’re the same handcuffs. He’d call it sentimental, but the word doesn’t quite fit. There’s no word to describe the leftover mementos from their time before.

* * *

_Now:_

Q gets the email at three in the morning. His brain is restless, he can't sleep, instead spending the time skimming through some old files while Bond sleeps.

The email pops up from an address he’s not familiar with, but there’s no mistaking who sent it.

Q’s hand stills. Now. Of all the time for a proposition to arrive. He reads it quickly then sits back in his chair. Bond murmurs something and rolls over in his sleep. Q gazes at him until he's still.

He considers the offer the organization is making him for seven minutes and fourteen seconds before he makes his decision. He’s well aware that if the email arrived a year ago, while he was growing bored at the facility, he would have accepted it immediately.

 _It’s strange_ , Q muses, _how things change in the span of the earth’s turn_. But it’s not time that’s brought about this decision. Q knows this. It’s the work; it’s Bond. He glances over at the sleeping figure, chest bare, body relaxed in slumber. He shuts his laptop, and crawls back into bed, slipping a hand around Bond’s waist.

“Mhmm, what?” Bond murmurs, still asleep.

“Nothing.” Q kisses his hair. Bond settles down, and Q lies there in the dark, feeling the man’s heat closer than his own heartbeat.

* * *

In the morning Q takes the file he’s compiled into the office with him. It consists of a summary of what the organization has been up to recently, in case M isn’t aware of it. There’s also a list of seven locations. Six of those names don’t concern Q in the slightest. It’s the third location on the list that made him pause and ultimately decide to turn it over to M.

One word that shouldn’t matter this much to him.

_England._


	2. Chapter 2

Later Q will remember how Bond looked that morning. Rumpled and sleepy-eyed, running his hand over Q’s hip as he heads for the shower. That casual touch, assured, comfortable, is the closest thing they have to any semblance of trust despite the joke with the handcuffs.

Q remembers this moment, memorizing it in bare details, Bond’s fingers, warmth on his skin, the bruise on Bond's left shoulder from a fight in Belize. The mark on his thigh is from Q’s mouth though.

He remembers because he has a troubled feeling that it might be the last time for a while, if not forever.

There are some deeds even Bond won’t be able to forgive.

* * *

Q chooses a moment when M’s secretary is out of the way and knocks quickly on the door before entering.

M looks up from her desk. “I suppose you a good reason for this interruption?”

“Sorry. May I have a word?” Q holds up the folder.

M nods, holding out her hand. The brusque greeting was strictly out of habit. Secretly, she’s intrigued because Q doesn’t often approach her.

“Last night I received an offer from an organization that I used to work with. I thought you should see it.” Q stands there, waiting as she reads it quickly.

M finishes reading and sets the file down heavily. “May I ask why you're bringing this to me? Why not take them up on the offer?” The weight of what she’s just read wearies her.

“It’s not really,” Q hesitates. “Where my interests lie at the moment.” He knows M knows about his involvement with Bond, yet it’s never been officially discussed. Q would prefer to keep it that way.

M nods to herself. “But what if it were?” She muses aloud. The possibilities were infinite.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Supposing you did join them after all.” M gazes at him thoughtfully, and it clicks.

“I’m not a field agent.” Unfortunately, even as the words leave his lips, Q already knows where this is going.

“I’m well aware of that. That’s why I’d send you with one, naturally.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s a good idea.” Q murmurs. He hadn’t even planned to tell Bond about this. It’s one of those things where it makes more sense not to tell him.

“Well, I’d hardly send you in there alone. It could be a trap after all.” She hits her intercom. “Please send 007 to me at once.”

_“Right away, marm.”_

Q regards her. “You do realize if this is a trap, you’re almost certainly sending him to his death?”

“I’m aware of that fact as well. What about you?” She returns his gaze. "Are you worried?"

“Me?” Q doesn’t think he’s in any particular danger, looking at her almost distractedly. “Oh, they wouldn’t kill me. Far too valuable.”

M realizes then that she’d made the right decision all those months ago. Finding a man whose ego surpasses Bond’s is rare. Rarer still, Q lacks the debilitating self-loathing that accompanies Bond. They were better suited than she had realized.

Even so.

* * *

Bond turns up in twenty minutes, strolling into the office. He hides his surprise at Q’s presence, looking questioningly at M. “Marm?”

“We have a situation unfolding.” M tells him. “Here.” She hands him the folder, not missing the way Q’s face tightens at the gesture. _He’s clever, but not entirely in control of himself, not here_. For some reason, M finds this reassuring.

Bond reads it, glances at her out of habit, then slowly, his gaze turns to Q. “You brought her this?”

Q nods. He’s beginning to think it was a mistake. He should have known M would bring Bond into this.

“Why?”

“I should think that was obvious.” This isn’t a conversation Q planned on having, and _this_ is precisely why.

“Q used to be employed by them.” M states. She’s watching both of them carefully.

“When?” Bond demands. His spine feels cold, stiff.

“When I was younger.”

“How young?” Bond wants facts and dates, reasons and explanations. He’s adding this all up in his head, not liking the sum.

“Twenty.” Q says. It was another life, another coat he wore without caring, but there’s an uncomfortable feeling in his chest.

Bond’s hand tightens on the file, staring at Q. “You were affiliated with a major terrorist operation at the age of twenty?”

“Yes,” Q looks back at him almost defiantly. “What you were doing?”

Bond shifts, folding his arms defensively. “I,”

“Were probably drunk in a pub somewhere, if I recall correctly,” M interjects. Bond gives her a look, but she carries on blithely, “Since then, the organization has gone to several grander projects, if that’s even possible.”

Bond’s still just eyeing Q like he’s never seen him before.

“Could you please stop staring at me like that?” Q mutters irritably. The uncomfortable feeling settles more heavily in his chest.

Bond shifts, crossing his arms. “How long?”

“Nine months.”

“You belonged to them for nine months.” Bond’s knuckles rest heavily on the folder as he stares at Q.

“Worked for.” Q corrects. He’s never belonged to any of them. They’re jobs. He knows this logic won’t make sense to Bond, which is why he doesn’t bother trying to explain.

“That makes a difference?”

Q’s eyes rest on him for a second. “It should.”

Bond snorts.

“This is neither the time nor the place for this conversation,” M interrupts. “Bond, I didn’t send for you to cause a fuss. I sent for you because I have an assignment.”

He focuses on her, but his knuckles are tense and angry against his thigh, Q notices. He wants to strokes them, kiss them until Bond relaxes, but he fears that won’t happen any time soon.

“What do you want me to do?” Bond asks abruptly.

“I’m sending Q in to gather the information we need. I want you to go in as his backup.”

“What?” Bond stares at her. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t send him in there.”

“Why not? I’m the terrorist.” Q remarks bitingly.

“I didn’t say _that_ ,” Bond throws at him. “You know what I mean. M, you can’t do this.”

“I can, and I’m going to. Q’s agreed. Now either you go along or I send someone else in your place.”

Bond subsides. “Very well.”

“Good. I’ll have the details sorted. You’ll get your orders. Now, Bond go home.” She eyes them. “Q has work to do.”

“Subtle, marm, very subtle.” Bond mutters at her.

* * *

Q walks out of the office ahead of him. He can feel Bond watching him as he heads for the elevators. Bond’s gaze is heavy on his shoulders. The elevator opens and Bond steps on behind him. The doors close and Bond hits the button for the training level.

“What else have you done?” Bond inquires levelly.

Q straightens his glasses. “Are you looking for a list categorized by year or type of employment?” He returns Bond’s gaze calmly. “May I remind you, 007, that I am under no obligation to inform you, or MI6 of my past. It’s simply by choice that I’ve done so.”

“Yes, why did you?” That’s been bothering Bond ever since M first told him about the whole bloody matter.

“What?”

“Why bring it to M at all?”

Q hesitates. “I have my reasons.” He’s just not ready to share them with Bond.

Bond’s lips thin. “Very well.”

When the elevator stops, Bond leaves him, stalking off in the opposite direction. Q watches him, then hits the button for his floor. The doors close and he leans his head back against the wood paneling.

* * *

He’s not there at Q’s flat either when Q gets home later than usual.

Perhaps it’s best. Q doesn’t go to Bond’s either and spends half the night reviewing past files.

* * *

Bond fires again and again, until the clip is empty. He pulls the ear muffs down around his neck and eyes the target. Every last shot dead center. He sighs. It's not as satisfying, and he doesn't know whose face he's imagining in place of the blank target.

*  *  *

Afterwards, he goes to M’s. For the first time Bond considers smashing everything in sight. Is there any part of his adult life that hasn’t been orchestrated by this woman? Instead he drinks her scotch and sits on her carpet, staring into space until she comes home.

“You’d better have left some for me.” M discards her wrap and pours herself a drink before settling on the sofa behind him. From this vantage she can study the back of his neck. For a moment she has to resist the urge to touch his neck. He’s just a man after all, this instrument of hers.

“Was there anything about this in his file?”

“Regarding this particular organization? No. There were others...”

Bond’s fingers tighten on the glass. “And you didn’t think I should know?”

“You knew what you needed to.”

Bond chuckles, letting his head drop between his shoulders. “That’s what you truly think?”

“I think I’m surprised this has paid off at all.”

Bond turns his head to stare at her. "That's why you allowed it? The hope that he’d bring in something useful?”

"Yes, of course." M looks at him speculatively. "Bond, do you really think for one instant I'd have let you get domestic with a former captor if there wasn't a potential opportunity in it?"

He has no answer for her, but he tries to bluff all the same. "What if I won't do it?"

M doesn't bite. "You'd rather I send Q off on his own."

"He can look after himself." It's not a lie; it's just not what Bond would prefer.

"Of course," M nods. "And what if he decides not to come back? Have you thought of that?"

Of course he has. "You want me as a contingency plan." Bond gazes up at her. “What do you really want me to do?”

"I want you to go along as Q’s backup, be there if he needs extraction and to make sure he gets the necessary information. And in case of system failure, you get out. Understood?"

"Understood, marm."

If Q turns, kill him. It's as simple as that. “If it comes down to it, which one do you want me to come back with?”

“What do you think?”

“That’s what I thought.” Bond drains his glass, letting it hit his throat smoothly, and stands. “Marm.”

He’s at the door before he lets himself ask. "Why didn't you stop me?" That's what he really needs to know.

M regards him almost sadly. "If there hadn't been a point to it, I would have."

* * *

 _I was a fool_. He should have known all along M would be using the situation for her own purposes. In retrospect, that was the only part of it that made any sense. What could he possibly hope to gain from a relationship with Q? Any involvement was bound to end poorly.

Bond walks along the Thames as the night meanders on, rain drizzling down upon him. He already knows if they make it back, there'll be no more of this. M doesn't have to say it. No more waking up next to Q, Q’s limbs entwined with his. No more finding tea mugs left everywhere in his flat. No more being surprised by Q touching him, a hand there on his shoulder, fingers light as air on his skin.

Perhaps it’s for the best.

It’s not as though it could have gone on forever.

Even Bond knows that.

* * *

It’s four AM when the key turns in the lock. The key Q left out for Bond six months ago and the agent pocketed casually.

_“Saves me the trouble of breaking in.”_

_“Yes, that was the idea.”_

Bond closes the door and pulls off his coat. He’s not drunk, which frankly surprises Q. He doesn’t appear angry either. He’s perfectly contained; he’s 007 to the core right now, and Q sighs.

He keeps typing.

“Working hard are we?” Bond remarks, glancing at the laptop in front of Q.

“Clearly,” Q tells him, not looking up.

“On?” Bond hangs up his wet coat. He’s chilled and normally he’d go to Q and pull him from his work without a second thought, drag him off to bed. His cock stirs at the thought, but Bond doesn’t move.

Q looks up then. “Does it matter?”

Bond shrugs. “Merely curious.” He goes for the liquor instead. That'll warm him.

Q leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “And if I said I was selling classified information?”

“Oh, don’t start.” Bond pours himself a large drink. He can already tell he's going to need it.

“Are you under the delusion that you have the moral high ground here?” Q inquires.

It’s all Bond can do not to punch him, but Q keeps going. “You’ve killed more people than,”

“I did that in the service of my country.” Bond interrupts coldly.

“And that absolves you of it? You were just following orders,” From the distaste in Q’s voice, there’s apparently nothing worse than following orders. It's obviously worse than the actual killing. Bond sets his glass down and places his palms on the table.

“If you think so little of me, why,”

“I don’t find it necessary to agree with someone if I’m going to have sex with them.” Q states. “I merely prefer to ascertain whether they’re intelligent enough to realize why they think they do.”

Bond’s tongue drags along his lower lip. “Met your standards, did I?” _Cheers to me._ He slugs back his drink and sets his glass down.

“Yes,” Q gazes back at him. “If I learned one thing from our sessions together, it’s you’re perfectly aware of what you are. You simply prefer not to dwell on it.”

“And what am I?” Bond strolls around the table, leaning down over Q. He watches the way Q's body turns towards him, watches the way his throat moves as he swallows. He thinks about kissing that throat before Q interrupts him.

“A masochistic instrument with a kink for violence and a proclivity towards death.” He's more than merely that, but Q can't say those words. Not right now.

Bond hates him in that moment, even as Q’s unzipping his trousers, drawing him out.

“You’re hard right now,” Q strokes him almost tenderly, “Because I’m telling the truth and you know it, even as you want to strangle me, as I know you do.”

Bond comes with a muted groan, Q’s hand upon him.

He still hates him.


	3. Chapter 3

Q leaves him standing there, and goes to make a fresh pot of tea. Bond stares down at his feet numbly. Solid, planted firmly upon the carpet. He runs a bemused hand over his spent cock and starts undressing in a perfunctory fashion. Each piece of clothing is removed and left there on the floor next to the table. When Q appears in the doorway with his tea, Bond’s naked and waiting.

Q takes a sip of tea, and sets the cup down. If he doesn’t do it quickly, he’ll get burned.

As Bond moves in, Q thinks perhaps he already is. 

His back fits pleasantly against the kitchen counter, but then Bond’s lifting him, setting him upon it. Q usually has rules about this sort of thing (they eat in the kitchen, he works there, etc,) but Bond’s breathing in his scent, as he pulls at Q’s clothes. They’re only pajama trousers and a sweater, it shouldn’t take much effort, but it’s still more clothing than Bond wants to deal with. 

“Off.”

“Patience.” Q murmurs.

“I have none.” Bond leans in, his teeth tugging at Q’s lower lip harshly.

Q drops his sweater on the floor, and Bond pulls his pajama bottoms free. Bond goes to his knees, pulling at Q’s arse till he’s perched right at the edge of the corner, allowing Bond to lick up into him.

“This would be infinitely more comfortable in a bed,” Q tells him, as pleasure curls through his body nevertheless, “And it can hardly be good for your neck.”

Bond ignores him, licking a stripe along his balls, and back over his hole, teasingly. He does this until Q’s spread his thighs wider. But Bond’s not really in the mood to tease tonight. Instead he holds Q’s thighs steady and straightens up, standing right between them. There’s a beat of silence, and then Bond tilts Q’s hips, thrusting up and in. 

Q’s got one hand on the kitchen counter bracing himself, the other on Bond’s back, trying to hold on. Christ, it’s too much. He’s too full, and Bond’s rhythm is off. The angle’s jarring, but Bond keeps going relentlessly, blunt nails digging into Q’s hips. When he comes, there’s a breath of silence and his head sinks down to rest upon Q’s shoulder. 

Q kisses his hair, and his neck and finally his mouth until Bond moves enough to let him down. He’s sore, but nothing terrible. Bond stands there in the middle of the kitchen, biting his lip until Q touches his chest and he focuses. 

“Come to bed.”

Bond simply nods. He doesn’t speak for the rest of the night, simply settles into bed and waits until Q lies down beside him. Then Bond wraps an arm around him, and presses his lips to the back of Q's neck. Q lies there awake, listening to Bond’s breathing until it’s steady and calm. Then he sleeps. 

* * *

In the morning Bond wakes first. Q’s still sleeping soundly, his lithe body peaceful beside Bond’s. Bond watches the rise and fall of his chest, the half hard curve to Q’s cock. Bond wants to wake Q by taking him in his mouth, sucking at him greedily until Q rouses from sleep and smiles drowsily down at him. He wants to have fuck here in this bed until Q pries his fingers off his body and manages to escape so he won’t late for work.

But the cloud of yesterday and last night won’t leave him. Bond’s still unsure what to make of Q. And then there’s the little matter of M’s orders. Bond stares blankly at the ceiling. If he looks at Q again, he’ll kiss him, and if he kisses Q, he’ll tell him everything. 

Instead Bond gets out of bed without waking Q and heads for the shower. 

* * *

The details of the mission are put together in only a few days. Under M’s direction, Q responds to the organization and the arrangements are made for him to join them. It’s as easy as that. 

* * *

M keeps Bond busy those last few days. There’s no time. Even if there were, he doesn’t know what to say to Q. It’s simpler to focus solely on the assignment. 

* * *

Q buys his ticket at St. Pancras and finds an empty carriage near the end of the train. He places his bag up on the overhead rack and settles into his seat. 

_“Remind me again why you’re not flying.”_

Q sighs. “I’ve explained it once already.” He told Bond he didn't like flying which was an understatement. 

_"It’d be an hour and twenty-five minutes.”_

“These people know me. Don’t you think they’d be a tad suspicious if I suddenly flew to their location?”

There's silence on the other end. Bond is no doubt once again mulling over the thought of Q's previous time spent working for them. Yet this time, Bond surprises him.

_“People change.”_

Q thinks about that. It’s possible he could have gotten over his flying phobia in the last decade, but he doesn’t see why he should have to. He flies when he absolutely has to. It’s not a pleasant experience.

“Sometimes, yes.” He murmurs. There’s no response this time, and he takes out his notebook. For the next few hours he gets to disappear into the vagaries of travel. 

He buys a sandwich and a tea once he’s in Brussels before catching his second train. Bond’s been silent the last few hours. Q quietly hopes that’s a good sign, but he doubts it.

* * * 

The last he’d seen of Bond was that morning at MI6 when M had handed over the official file and bid them farewell.

“Good luck to you both.”

“Thank you.” Q shakes her hand. M looks him in the eye, and he finds himself standing straighter, hoping he’ll do her proud. Is this what Bond feels?

Bond nods shortly. “Marm.”

And that was that. Nothing else, nothing more. He can feel Bond close to him; the earpiece connecting them, even when the man isn’t speaking.

There’s a tracking device on his laptop, not his, but a temporary one. It has everything he’d need if he were to disappear, save one folder of private files kept safely in reserve. The tracking device is there if the coms go out and Bond needs to find him. The files are there if Q changes his mind. 

* * *

There’s a car waiting for Q when the train arrives in Luxembourg. The driver takes him to the new headquarters. This time the organization, officially known as Parks, Fields, and Waters (it often masquerades as a private law firm) is stationed within an abandoned hospital. 

Q steps out of the car, privately amused as he gazes up at his surroundings. It’s the perfect hiding place. No one would ever suspect. It’s been ten years since he last worked with them. In that time the organization has grown far larger. 

The last time Q had been hired to help them break a series of intricate codes they’d gotten their hands on. Military codes that belonged to China, Russia and Britain. Idly, Q wonders what Bond would think of that. 

An assistant is waiting for him at the door. “Please come with me.”

He leads Q down a long quiet hallway. The smell of faint disinfectant clings to the walls still.

“Here you are.” The secretary knocks briskly on an office door and opens it for Q who steps through it. The man sitting behind the desk is the one he’s been expecting to see. The man in the corner chair is one he hoped he’d never see again. 

Mr. Waters has hardly aged a day since they last met, Q observes as the older man rises to greet him with a smile. 

“Sir,”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Q.” Mr. Waters holds out his hand warmly. “I was delighted to get your answer. Surprised, of course, but delighted.”

“Yes,” Nikos cuts in, “Where have you been hiding yourself?” 

“Here and there.” Q’s not pleased to see Nikos has risen in the ranks. The man was always unpleasant, little more than a thug. 

* * *

He says as much to Bond later while he’s settling into his room. It’s a private chamber on the second floor. The entire building is so quiet, you’d never know there were scores of people within its walls, working away to undermine governments. 

_“My kind of man.”_ Bond says in his ear. 

“At least you’re an educated thug.” Q goes into the washroom, turning on the tap. Bond is so quiet. Q pauses, resting his hands on the sink. “Bond?” They’ll be listening to this back at headquarters. There's no time for him to say more. He’s unsure of what else he would say if they weren’t listening.

_“I had no idea you thought me educated.”_ Bond murmurs at last.

Q sighs and splashes water across his face. “Barely.”

He hears the faint huff of a chuckle; that's what he's waiting for. It's enough.

* * *

It’s absurdly easy to slip back into this previous version of himself. Q’s comfortable there; it’s familiar territory. He knows this pattern. It was a successful part of his life and he left with the knowledge that he had done a good job for the organization. 

This would be a simple task indeed, if it weren’t for Bond’s presence, there at the back of his mind, waiting in the dark. Never before has Q given much thought to whether or not people care for the words he speaks, or the things he does. It’s never been relevant before. Whether something is true or false, if he designs something well, if the codes are clear, these are the things that matter. But with Bond, there’s emotion involved. 

Q thinks again of how he would have taken this job, if it weren’t for Bond.

He takes a deep breath. If he closes his eyes, a hundred images brush fleetingly past his eyelids. Bond is there at the back of his eyes, like a persistent ghost that he can’t escape no matter where he goes. 

Muscle and sinew. Scarred skin under Q’s inquisitive fingertips. Bones that feel so strong when pressing against him, but they’ve been broken before and can be snapped again just as easily. Underneath everything, Bond is merely flesh and bone. In the end, flesh withers and bones grow brittle. Q can’t protect him from that any more than he can protect him from the danger that inhabits Bond’s daily life. Is he supposed to try? Is that part of him now? 

Q sighs, blinking rapidly to dispel the ghost lingering there. 

M shouldn’t have sent Bond. M should have known better to send him.


	4. Chapter 4

Q could make this deception real. It would be simple. All he’d have to do is cut himself off from MI6, from Bond, and delve into this project completely. What if he did? Would it be so bad? Yes, it probably wouldn’t be wise to go back to England any time soon if he did it, but he could live without that.

Couldn’t he?

He thinks about this as Waters shows him around the hospital, giving him a detailed tour of the laboratories and the work stations. They end up at the computer lab where Waters has a space all ready for him.

“Here we are.” Waters shows him to a desk. ”I’m very pleased to have you here.”

“Thank you.” Q smiles at him. He likes Waters, enjoys working with him. The man’s intelligence is something of a relief to be around after...

He sighs, pulling his glasses off to rub at the bridge of his nose. It’s not that he’s been bored at MI6, more the opposite. It’s that, _this_ is how he’s always worked. Security measures and perimeters, ( though those are all things that were also at MI6) and not particularly caring about the people involved with his projects. There's never been anyone important involved with his work, and then one day Bond strolled into his lab.

* * *

Waters shows him the outlines for the computer program they’re working on. They have already agents stationed at the various locations, working inside the governments, waiting for the program to be ready to be inserted. At first the program will only be a subtle influence, not designed to kill or to control, not yet. Influence, yes. Influence is everything.

“Once the program is in place, the seven agents are merely there in case of emergency. They’re not to kill anyone, just safeguards in case,”

“Seven agents.” Q says offhandedly. There’s something about the number, the plan, that causes a twinge in his memory.

“Yes, we procured them from a facility specializing in,” Waters stops, gazing at him in realization. “ I had heard they had someone special working with them on that project, but one never likes to presume. That was you, wasn't it?”

Q shrugs modestly. “I'll admit, it was some of my finest work.”

“Quite a good job of it.” Waters tells him heartily.

“I didn’t work on all of them.” Q says. Inside him, his heart skips oddly. This is what was intended for Bond? Here? Used against his own country? That would kill him.

There’s a quiet reasonable voice inside Q pointing out that yes, he worked on this very project with this same intent, and that he has very little reason to be upset about anything here. All the same he _knows_ Bond now. That’s the problem. Bond.

“I wish you had done twice as many,” Waters continues. “We could have used more.”

“Is there some doubt as to their effectiveness?”

“No, no,” Waters assures him. He gets out the blueprints and Q goes over them with him.

* * *

Bond paces back and forth in his hotel room. Q took out his earpiece two hours earlier, and ever since then Bond’s been worried sick.

Suppose Q were to...

Bond shakes his head. No. He’s not doing this. Instead, he pours himself a stiff drink and slugs it back.

If Q betrays him, Bond’ll kill him slowly and painfully.

Bond blinks. Carefully, he sets his glass down on the dresser and rests his chin on top of his folded arms. That’s not why he’d kill Q. He’d kill him for betraying MI6. It’s not personal.

It’s _not._

Besides, he’s not going to kill Q.

He’s not.

Unless he absolutely has to.

Bond checks his watch. They’re supposed to check in every four hours if they have to remove their earpieces for any reason when it would be too suspicious. That’s why Q did it; it’s completely logical. Bond _knows_ this. He can’t count the times he’s tossed his earpiece when it was convenient to do so.

Bond has another drink and looks at his watch again.

He takes his gun apart piece by piece, cleaning it methodically. It takes him hardly any time at all. He replaces the clip and slides it into place.

Checks his watch again. Still no word from Q.

He can’t wait any longer.

* * *

Q blinks, rubbing at his eyes. They’ve been in the lab going over the specs for some time. He glances at his watch and blinks harder. Is that really the time? He’s supposed to have contacted Bond long ago. He fishes in his pocket for his mobile.

Waters nods at the graph on the screen. “If we combine,” he cuts himself off as there’s a beeping. He taps his com. “Yes? Oh, really? Yes, do bring him in.” He taps it again and looks up at the screen. “Where was I?”

“Combining the lateral processes,” Q reminds him. “Anything important?”

“They caught an intruder. They’re bringing him in now.” Waters nods to the screen.

“He’ll be in the observation chamber till we decide what to do with him.”

Q glances up at the main computer screen as the door opens, and the guards bring the prisoner in.

His chest tightens.

It’s Bond.

Waters hits the intercom. “Nikos, where did you find him?”

“Skulking around the back wall.”

“Find out who sent him.” Waters crosses his arms, glancing back down at the chart.

The guards hold Bond firmly in place as Nikos searches him. Nikos takes no chances. He searches Bond thoroughly, sliding his hands along the inside of his coat, down the insides of his thighs, pressing his fingers over the bulge of Bond’s balls, running them up the crease of his arse. Bond’s stoic through the process.

Q watches carefully out of the corner of his eye.

Nikos removes his gun, his earpiece, his radio and the knife in his right boot before straightening up. “Who sent you?”

Bond looks at him blankly.

Nikos smiles and punches him hard in the gut. Bond sags, but the guards haul him upright.

Nikos picks up the knife, considering it. “I think you'll tell me soon enough.”

Waters sighs. “This is hardly productive. Take him to the warehouse and shoot him.”

Q has three seconds to decide. He slips his glasses off, and cleans them. “Oh,”

“Yes?” Waters glances at him.

"I didn’t look at him at first," Q says absently. He doesn’t look at the screen now, though he can tell Bond’s ears have perked up at the sound of his voice.

Waters turns and looks at him fully. "What do you mean?"

"He's MI6," Q explains. "Or at least he was previously. I may have experimented on him unnecessarily long." Now he knows Bond is listening.

"You brought him here?" Waters looks puzzled. Q can see the suspicion in his eyes. It's a dangerous moment. He has to play this just right.

Q slips his hands in his pockets casually. "He's supposed to do better than this, but obviously I need to tinker with him a bit more."

"Shall I open him up now?" Nikos taps Bond's chest with his knife.

"I'd rather you didn't." Q says quietly, keeping his eyes on Waters.

“Nikos,” Waters says, and Nikos sighs, but his knife stills.

“So what do you want me to do with him?”

“Wait for now.” Waters turns back to Q. "Why did you bring him along?"

"My last job got dull. I like to have something to work on in my spare hours." Q cleans his glasses. He doesn't appreciate Nikos's snicker, nor at the way Bond tenses at the sound.

"That last job didn't end too well, now did it?" Waters murmurs. “Is that why we haven’t heard much of you of late?”

“When have you ever heard much of me?” Q responds. His pulse is speeding along like an express train. He’s not a field agent; but he is a damn good liar. This at least he can do. He glances at the screen. “I don’t exactly broadcast my actions.”

“The research facility got,”

“Compromised,” Q nods. “Yes, I heard about that. Not too long after I took my leave.”

“Convenient.” Nikos murmurs. He’s sliding the knife along the inside of Bond’s shirt almost absentmindedly. Q can’t take his eyes off the knife point traveling over Bond’s skin.

“So you just took him off project?” Waters is definitely confused.

“He was a bonus.” Q murmurs.

Waters eyes him, and then chuckles. “Nikos, take him to a cell.”

Nikos nods, and pulls Bond along out of the room. Q resists the urge to watch him go. He stays focused on the situation at hand, convincing Waters that he's not working for MI6.

* * *

  
Nikos pushes Bond into the cell. Bond catches himself before he falls. He’s still handcuffed. It’s the only thing keeping him from punching the other man in the face.

Nikos cocks his head, surveying him thoughtfuly. “Soon as we’re done with you, I’m going to take you apart, piece by piece until you scream.”

Bond ignores him, looking around the cell.

Nikos shrugs and locks the door.

Bond stands there in the cell, legs trembling. At last he can stand no longer and sinks helplessly to the floor. He rests his head against the wall and stares unseeingly at the ground.

He’s completely and utterly fucked.

* * *

“So,” Waters clasps his fingers together. “I have to say I’m curious as to how this happened.”

"It’s not that interesting of a story," Q says.

Nikos returns to the research room. There’s no visible sign of any violence. Chances are he hasn’t hurt Bond. Yet. if Q knows Nikos, and unfortunately he does, Nikos will merely wait for the first opportunity.

“Do tell.”

Q thinks back. “He was brought in for testing. He responded fairly well, but my colleague and I had differing opinions on what methods of research we should use on him. We agreed to disagree, and I got him as part of my severance package.” If Bond were listening to this he’d be rolling his eyes.

Waters sits back and surveys him. “He was part of the rehabilitation program? Why not just sell him?”

“I preferred to keep one as backup.”

Nikos chuckles. “Is that what you’re calling it? I must say, I always thought you weren’t interested in sex.”

“Not all of us think with our genitals, Nikos.” Q says distractedly.

“Did you do this to many test subjects?” Waters interrupts. He’s going over the files again while listening to Q's explanation .

“Do what?”

“Train and program a subject for your personal use.”

“It was hardly that.” Q cuts himself off. He can hear how it sounds, but the idea that he would do that is laughable. “It’s absurd.”

“It’s hardly absurd.” Waters chuckles. “It’ll be interesting to see whether or not that makes a noticeable change in performance.”

“Will it?”

Waters nods. “It’s late. Let’s discuss this in the morning.”

Q nods."Tomorrow then."

*   *   *

He goes back to his room, knowing there’s still someone watching him tonight. Waters seems convinced, but they won’t take any chances. Not tonight.

Q gets out his laptop and checks the camera feed on Bond's cell.

There are guards outside the door, and Nikos will have someone watching the feed as well. Q can’t get to him tonight. But he can watch him. So that’s what Q does. Sitting there on his bed, watching Bond sit in his cell, Q can’t help but feel as though nothing has changed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fyi this chapter involves a dub-con blowjob between Bond and another character (ie. not Q).

In the morning Q makes a cup of tea before heading down to the lab. When he arrives at his desk, Nikos is already waiting for him, cleaning his nails with Bond’s knife.

“We have him in the interrogation room.” He smiles. “Waters is waiting for you.”

“Very well.” Q takes a sip of tea. “Shall we?”

* * *

Bond is seated in a chair, hands bound behind his back. If he had a nickel for every time someone did this to him, he’d be a very wealthy man and he’d never have to put himself in this sort of situation ever again.

The door opens and Bond looks up out of habit. Always face your attacker. He keeps his features neutral as Q enters the room. Q who glances at him as if he’s no more than a specimen.

There’s a hollow feeling in the pit of Bond’s stomach. This is all too familiar.

He should have known this would happen. How could he have been so fucking stupid?

* * *

“What’s the verdict?” Q inquires casually, strolling over to where Waters is reading yet another file.

“Well, I wish you had told me you were bringing him along. Just for the sake of security, but,” Waters nods. “He’s all yours.”

The feeling Q’s very carefully not allowing himself to show is relief. He takes another sip of tea. “I should have told you. I was just testing him.”

“What’s he like in the sack?” Nikos interrupts, circling Bond curiously.

“I’m sorry?” Q looks up at him quizzically. Nikos has always been crude, but bringing up such a topic unnecessarily is beyond Q’s comprehension.

Waters is merely studying Bond in silence. Q wishes he’d say something, anything to get Nikos to back off.

“Come, come, you don’t expect us to believe you’ve had a trained MI6 agent at your beck and call and you haven’t tested him out?” Nikos’s eyes rove over Bond’s form.

“Some of us do focus on work, Nikos.” Q sets his tea down on the table.

“What a waste.” Nikos rests his hand on Bond’s flank. “Shall I test him for you?”

“Keep your hands off.” Q’s voice is ice. Nikos’s hand retreats. ”If he’s damaged he’ll hardly be useful in any capacity.” Q points out, glancing at Waters.

Waters nods. “Nikos, go and do something.”

Nikos goes reluctantly, one last lingering look at Bond.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re still keeping that man around.” Q pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are his services really worth his company?”

“Well, we all have our weapons, don’t we?” Waters eyes Bond with a smile. “Perhaps a test of another kind would be more effective.”

“Is it necessary?” Q asks. “Just put him in a room somewhere until we have a use for him.” If he can keep Bond out of the way of this, maybe, just maybe…

“Ah, but my dear Q, we have a use for him now.”

“Do we?” Q keeps his voice calm.

“Yes, I was going to have Nikos do it, but this is much more interesting. It’s just a little errand, and I’d love a chance to see your work in action.”

“You already have several of my works.” Q points out. “I’m sure they’re performing adequately.” He doesn’t look at Bond, knows the agent will put two and two together. If they ever had a chance of halfway trusting each other, it’s long gone now.

He’d been aware of the psychological effect of starting a relationship with Bond, what it could have on Bond in the future. He hadn’t tested it before.

Would Bond obey him? If he asked him? If Q tells him to do something, will Bond do it?

They don't need Bond for this. They _do_ need Q to finalize their codes, to make the trace so subtle, only they'll be able to detect them. It's layers and layers of delicate work and he’s drawn to it; Q can’t help it. It’s a challenge, one that if it weren’t for Bond he’d already be working on. Bond, who's sitting there, watching and listening to all of this. What is Bond thinking?

He glances covertly at the man. Bond’s focused on him and Q knows if anyone understands the temptation of a challenge, it’s Bond, even if the challenge itself is beyond his understanding.

Q gazes at Bond and contemplates the truth of the matter. It’s over when they return, if they return, if they obey M, and Bond does, when it counts, when it truly matters, he does. Bond would kneel at her feet and offer his neck for the executioner’s ax. All she has to do is give the order.

What would be it be like to inspire that sort of loyalty? Q wonders. What does it feel like to experience that?

“But before we send him out,” Waters says suddenly. “One little demonstration, if you please.”

Q gazes at him, then nods. “If you like.” He looks around and settles on the knife Nikos left on the table.

He picks it up and goes to Bond. Removing the cuff from his right arm, Q holds out the knife.

“Q,” Waters murmurs.

“It’s perfectly safe.” Q tells him. “Take the knife.”

Bond takes the knife.

"Good. Now stab yourself lightly in the left thigh.”

"Are you certain of this?" Waters asks.

"Oh yes." Q's eyes don't waver. "You wanted a demonstration."

Bond's grip on the knife tightens. He could take the chance; he should take the chance. He won't get another. But Q's watching him and Bond calmly stabs himself in the leg.

His body jerks with the strain, pain ricocheting out through his body. Blood wells up through his fingers, but Q is smiling.

"There," he looks at Waters. "I told you I train them well."

"Remarkable."

It is the crowning point of Bond's career as a faker, a liar, an actor if you will, that he manages to restrain himself in that moment. He keeps his face impassive as the blood seeps over his hand, the knife still gripped tight. Somewhere, far off, he's screaming, but not here. And that's all that matters.

Q nods at the wound. “I take it that you’ll have that looked at before you send him out on an assignment.”

“What do you take me for?” Waters nods at the guard. “Escort him to medical and have him tended to.”

* * *

The door to the infirmary opens, and Nikos steps inside. He nods at the medic who glances at him, and then Bond before ducking out.

“How’s the leg?” Nikos inspects the bandage on Bond’s thigh.

“It’ll heal.” Bond says neutrally. He stands uncertainly. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act, damn it. Nikos walks around him, surveying him from all angles. The infirmary is too small, Nikos too close for comfort.

Nikos stops behind him, resting his hand on the back of Bond’s neck; it’s all he can do not to shiver.

“Has he fucked you?”

“Pardon?”

“I always thought he was asexual.” Nekos presses his finger tight.

Bond contemplates how many moves it would take to break the man’s arm. He knows his pulse is too quick. He tries to calm it.

“If he merely wanted brute strength,” Nikos moves around to face him, looking him up and down critically. “He could have done better.”

Bond remains blank.

“Answer me.” Nikos slaps his cheek lightly.

“No.”

“No?”

“He doesn’t fuck me.”

Nikos studies him. “Likes to take it, does he?” He grins. “No surprises there.”

It’s all Bond can do not to punch him in the gut. The man’s begging for it.

Nikos cups him assessing. “Yes, I can see why he’d like that.” He squeezes, laughing.

 _When this is done,_ Bond thinks calmly, _I am going to kill this man_. He focuses on it, as Nikos gropes him.

Nikos leans in. “What does he make you do?”

“Whatever he requires.”

“You know what I mean.”

“What?”

“Sexually.” Nikos murmurs.

Nikos clasps the back of his neck again, pushing. Bond resists for half a second, then kneels. Nikos steps in front of him, unzipping his trousers. “Here. He should have taught you this at least.”

Bond sucks competently, careful not to look up. If he looks up, there’s no way the man will believe he’s not a threat. From the way Q spoke up earlier when Nikos touched him, he can’t know about this. Bond focuses on geting the task done. It's part of his cover. It doesn't matter. His leg aches.

Nikos grunts quickly enough, emptying into his mouth and Bond swallows it down without a sound.

“There.” Nikos does up his pants. He pats Bond’s cheek. “You aren’t to tell him of this. It will be our little secret.”

“Understood.” Bond says coolly and Nikos’s eyes narrow.

Bond just stands there and finally Nikos nods and steps aside. “Come along.”

* * *

Bond is taken to another room. This time it’s more of a dull hotel room than a cell, but there’s still a lock on the door. He sits on the bed, wondering where the cameras are situated and how the fuck a reprogrammed agent is supposed to act.

* * *

It isn’t till the next day that Bond sees Q again. He’s taken back to the lab where Waters shows him a photograph of a man in his mid-forties.

“This is your target. You’ll be taken to the railway station. There you will find your target.” He taps the photo. “You will follow him to his hotel and kill him. Is that understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. When it is finished, you will make your way to the Adolphe Bridge. There you will be picked up and brought back here.” Waters glances at Q. “I believe that covers it. They should be along with the car in a moment.” He steps out into the corridor.

Q doesn’t waste a moment. He grips Bond’s wrist. “Listen to me.”

Bond looks at Q. His voice is quiet, intent. This is Q deadly serious.

“You will have an extremely limited window of time when you are out of range of their man, precisely when you go inside the hotel. In that window, you have to disappear.” His fingers tighten on Bond’s wrist. “Are you listening, Bond?”

“Yes. Why,”

Q doesn’t let him finish his question. “Just go. Get out. Don’t waste time. Understood?”

Bond asks anyway. “What about you?”

“Hardly relevant. Be ready for that window. You have your orders.” He digs his fingers into Bond’s skin for a moment. “Don’t fuck this up.”

Waters returns and Q steps away from him. Waters starts speaking to him and Bond’s led away.

* * *

Bond processes the information during the drive to the train station.

He has a target. He’s supposed to kill a man. Theoretically, Q should want him to kill this man. And yet Q told him to run.

Bond’s adrenaline is spiking hard. If he runs, he’ll get away. He can do that, get back to MI6, tell them where the location is, get in, and get Q out.

But what will happen if he doesn’t complete the mission? If he doesn’t go to the bridge? What happens to Q then?

He has nothing to go on. A photo, that’s all. Bond has no idea why they want the man dead, or whether or not the man is just someone they selected at random. He’s flying blind. He can’t kill a civilian, even to save Q.

Can he?

No. He can’t. It’s insane. What’s worse is Q never thought he would, that’s why he told Bond to run.

The car pulls up in front of the train station.

The driver turns to face him. “Your target’s train will be arriving in seven minutes. Here,” He holds out a gun.

Bond takes it, checks the clip automatically, and places it in his waistband as he steps out of the car. He takes a deep breath and walks into the train station.


	6. Chapter 6

Q runs through various options while test running part of the code. If they believe him that Bond’s reconditioning failed, they will doubt his skills and him as well, but that can’t be helped. Chances are they won’t believe him.

Q makes another cup of tea and focuses on his laptop. At least it's secure. They can’t get into it, even if they try, and eventually if they try hard enough they’ll trigger the self-destruct which he installed after Bond got his hands on it. As for the other one, it’s in a lockbox at Paddington Station, the key safely hidden inside the British Library.

Now all that’s left is the waiting. He's nearly managed to distract himself with the coding patterns when Waters gets the call. "Ah, good." He turns to look at Q. "Job's done apparently. They're bringing him in now."

Nothing prepares Q for the announcement. The tea scalds his throat and he lets it. The heat grounds him.

“Oh,” It’s all he says. “Good.”

* * *

Bond enters the room with Nikos close behind.

“Here,” Nikos pushes him forward. “Report.”

“The target is dead.” Bond says expressionlessly.

Waters nods approvingly. “Good work.” He smiles at Q. “You’ve really done an excellent job training this one."

“Yes, well, when you do it right they’re like a trained dog.” The words are meant for Bond, and the man doesn’t even react. Not noticeably. There’s only the tick at the corner of his eye that gives him away.

“Do you reward him with a treat afterward?” Nikos teases, patting Bond on the cheek. “Shall I take him back to his cell?”

“No, leave him with Q for now.” Waters’ phone buzzes and he goes out.

“You heard him.” Q keeps his eyes on his laptop until Nikos leaves as well and then murmurs under his breath, “Care to explain what you were thinking?”

“Got the job done, didn’t I?” Bond says sotto voce.

Q eyes him. Bond looks perfectly fine, not a scratch on him. What the fuck is the matter with him? It’s too dangerous to have this conversation; it’s especially too dangerous to have it here.

He shuts his laptop abruptly. “Come with me.”

* * *

He takes Bond back to his room and closes the door before speaking again. “I presume you have a plan because you ruined mine.”

Bond shrugs. “They listening?” He scans the room quickly before his gaze returns to Q.

“The room’s clean.”

“Well, then, do you have the information yet?”

“No.” Q says irritably. He should have known Bond would come back for that, mission first, safety second.

“How long will it take you?” Bond cracks his neck, trying to ease the tension gathering there.

“A day or two more, I think. Probably.”

Bond nods. “Then'll we go.” There’s still a tense set to his shoulders, and a look in his eye that makes Q want to advance and retreat at the same time. “What do I do now?”

“Why are you asking me?” Q says. “Clearly you don’t follow my orders that well.”

“I can only play the trained dog so well without instruction,” Bond retorts. His leg's throbbing. He's ready for this conversation to be done.

What would he do, if he were just another agent in this situation? Q didn’t really deal with the agents once they were fully reprogrammed. That wasn’t his area.

At last he says, “There’s an exercise room next floor down. Go work out, then shower, then wait in your room.”

Bond’s at the door before Q adds, “In the meantime, watch out for Nikos.”

“Jealous?” Bond asks casually.

“Possibly.” Q murmurs.

Bond’s hand pauses on the doorknob, looking at him strangely. “Don’t take it personally.” Q tells him. “I’ve always disliked it when he tries to take my things.”

“Is that what I am?” Bond’s voice is abrupt, forcing the words out.

“My very best.” Q says softly.

Bond glances at him over his shoulder. “Nikos? You? What’s the difference?”

Q flinches inwardly, staring at him. “Nikos’s intent is entirely pain. I wanted to learn. I wanted to know,”

“- what makes me tick.” Bond finishes for him. “Yes, I know.”

The door closes behind him and Q sighs.

* * *

 _We_. Bond does another set of pushups. He’d said we, and he meant it. He means it now, in spite of how the conversation ended. As long as Q hasn’t turned, and apparently he hasn’t, they were both making it out of this alive.

He doesn’t allow himself to think about anything else, letting the routine pattern of working out take over.

* * *

Q pushes Bond and whatever idiotic decision he’s made, out of his mind. He’s got at least half the information secreted away on his thumb drive, coded locations, and names. If Bond can just manage to contain himself for 24 hours more, they can get out of this alive.

And if Bond can’t? Well, Q will cross that bridge when he comes to it.

He brings up the camera feed of Bond’s room. The man’s undressing methodically. Q watches him remove his shirt and reach down to pull off his shoes. Q sighs.

* * *

Bond manages to not think about Q until he’s finally in the shower, and then he leans back under the spray. He’s hard and he’s hungry, the adrenaline from earlier is wearing off. If only...

The door to the bathroom opens and Bond tenses, waiting. Then Q steps into the shower, pulling the glass door behind him.

"I take it you have no objections." He murmurs.

Bond’s eyes skim over his naked form. “What about the cameras?”

“I looped the feed.” Q moves closer. “Well?”

Bond considers as his eyes travel down Q’s body. They can argue this out, or he can sink into Q’s body and he can forget. He knows which option he prefers. Q’s nipples are here and waiting for his tongue. Q’s hips, ready to held against him. There are so many things Bond needs, and so little time.

Q's body is stiff as he stands there, waiting for Bond to speak.

Bond leans back against the tiled wall. “Something you want to say to me?”

The slap is quick and sharp, stinging across his cheek. “If you ever,”

Bond drags Q up against him, wrapping an arm around his neck, and one around his torso, forcing him up against the wall. “I did what I had to do.” His cock fits the crease of Q’s arse so sweetly. Bond kisses his throat, rubbing against him.

Q arches back against his groin. “Go on then.”

Bond doesn’t need to hear it twice. He thrusts in, savoring the motion. Q's body resists and then accepts him, and Bond thrusts deeper, uncaring. He knows the dry burn Q’s experiencing now, the rough need of it as Bond moves inside him. Bond closes his eyes as Q leans his head back against his chest.

Neither of them is going to say it - _this is the last time_ \- but it screams through them with every thrust and groan. They fuck until they’re spent and the water’s long since grown cold. Even then Bond doesn’t want to relinquish Q’s body.


	7. Chapter 7

Bond lies on his back on the bed naked, watching silently while Q gets dressed.

Q straightens his collar when he's done and glances at him. “I should go.” There's an uneasy feeling lingering at the edge of his focus.

Bond sits up. “Try to get the info by tomorrow or the next day, if you could.” He doesn’t say anything more than that. He doesn't have to.

“I’ll do my best.” Q tells him.

Bond scratches at his stomach, and nods. He stands, heading back into the bathroom to take a piss. Q watches his form until he’s out of sight, and then leaves. Before he goes, he places a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches on the bedside table. Bond needs something to take his mind off the waiting, or at least distract him for the time being.

Once he's back in his own room, Q takes the camera off the loop. The feed now shows Bond lying naked on the bed, smoking, staring at the ceiling.

Q goes back through to running through the files. He’s got access to all their systems now, though he knows Waters has to have considered that when he first let him touch a computer. Still he hasn’t said anything, and he still doesn’t seem suspicious of Q.

The uneasy feeling won’t leave Q. He resolves to have the information by the end of the next day at the latest. They need to get out of here. He did his best to make Bond leave already and that hadn’t worked.

He makes himself a cup of tea and keeps going through the systems. The sooner he gets the files they came for, the sooner they can go.

* * *

When Bond walks out of the bathroom the next morning, Nikos is waiting for him, perched on the end of the bed. He eyes Bond's naked form with a grin.

Bond forces himself to keep his movements neutral as he finishes toweling off. Nikos watches in silence, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m supposed to keep you occupied,” His eyes slide down to Bond’s crotch and up again. “Get dressed.”

Everything in his gut is telling Bond to run and if this were a solo mission he would have already made his move. That’s the trouble with partners. Waiting for Q is going to get him killed.

He nods and turns his back on Nikos, reaching for his clothes.

* * *

Nikos leads him to a basic exercise room. There’s various equipment set up, as well as a boxing ring in the corner. Bond gives it a look as Nikos motions for him to step forward.

“I thought we’d have a little exercise.” Nikos raises the ropes and Bond steps into the ring.

“No gloves?”

“We’re not boxing,” Nikos smiles. “Just playing.”

They face each other. Bond stays still as Nikos circles him, waiting for the other man to attack first.

Nikos takes his time.

“It’s not as though I can’t see the appeal.” He steps to the side of Bond, just at the corner of his peripheral vision. “But I have to say, I’m disappointed.”

He aims a sharp quick punch to Bond’s lower torso. Bond blocks and maneuvers around him, arms raised for the next attack.

“He must have been bored.” Nikos ducks to his left and gets a blow in to Bond’s side, but Bond whirls and brings his hand down hard on Nikos’s back.

Nikos dodges out of range, laughing. “Either that he or was intrigued. I’m not sure which is worse really.”

Bond focuses on the fight. What Nikos is saying doesn’t matter. It’s only meant to provoke him, gain any reaction that it can. It won’t have any effect as long as he doesn’t react.

Nikos attacks again, silently this time for which Bond is grateful. They spar back and forth easily for a little while. Nikos’s fighting style was laid-back, but dangerous. Bond finds it easy to adapt to, pursuing him across the ring, and retreating when Nikos advances again.

“He ever let you fuck him?” Nikos inquires suddenly, landing a blow on Bond’s jaw before he can react. “Bet you’d like to fuck that tight little arse of his? It’s practically begging for it every time he walks through a room. Can you still even get it up? Or do you have to be ordered to do that as well?”

Bond responds with a pop in the mouth, watching the blood trickle from Nikos’s mouth.

“So tempting though, isn’t he though,” Nikos wipes his bloody mouth on his cuff, grinning up at him. “I’d like to bend him over that desk of his, and make him squeal.”

Bond moves in close again with a series of blows that have Nikos up again the ropes, and then then he shoves Bond back, swinging wildly at his face. Bond ducks out of the way, stumbling backwards.

“When we’re done with this job, that’s what I intend to.” Nikos informs him, bouncing back on his heels. “Fuck him good and proper until he’s bloody, till he begs for more. And he will, right little screamer that he is.”

Bond’s expression tightens, and Nikos grins. “There.” He, leans in, tapping his forefinger on Bond’s chest. “You’re human under there after all. Always knew he couldn’t manage it.”

“On the contrary,” Bond states. “I think he did a fine job.”

He seizes Nikos’s arm and twists hard. The man roars, swinging around to grab at Bond’s arm, delivering a sharp punch. Bond pulls free, reeling from the blow. They circle, the danger closing in.

There’s blood rushing in his head, pounding in his ears. Bond moves in, his movements tight and close, vicious as a dog. Nikos is too strong. They twist and pull and Bond gets the upper hand, hands closing around the man’s neck, wrapping his arm around Nikos’ neck, twisting.

Nikos screams.

Distantly Bond hears the door open, but doesn’t look up. Just a little longer. He can still feel a pulse.

“Let him go.” Waters orders.

Bond hesitates. Only a few more seconds. Then it will be over.

“Release him,” Waters says firmly. “Or, I’ll have Q brought in here and shot right in front of you.”

Bond looks up then. The gun is aimed at his head, but that’s not what concerns him.

Waters’ words register at last and he hesitates still. Later Bond holds on to that, he hesitated, and then he let go.

“On your knees.” Waters orders. “Hands behind your head.”

Bond obeys.


	8. Chapter 8

Nikos’s breathing is shallow. Waters has him taken away, keeping an eye on Bond. “Bring him.”

Bond’s wrists are cuffed behind his back. Two guards prod him to his feet, pushing him along the corridor after Waters.

* * *

Q’s busy at work when Waters pokes his head into the lab.

“May I have a moment?” Waters inquires.

“Of course.” Q doesn’t look up from his keyboard until Waters remains silent. He gives the man a quarter of his attention. “What’s going on?”

Waters turns the gaze toward the door as the guards bring Bond in. Q’s fingers pause.

“It was a very pleasant charade,” Waters nods, and two more guards step to either side of Q. “But now I would like to know why.” Of all things, he sounds disappointed in Q.

Q looks at Bond. “What happened?” He’s asking Waters as much as Bond. “Is something amiss?”

“He almost killed Nikos. You didn’t train him nearly as well as I thought.” Waters says sadly. “I’m sorry, Q.”

“So am I.”

Bond’s eyes slant towards him. He still can’t read the man, and he wants to know what Q meant by that.

“So the programming is faulty.” Q removes his glasses and cleans them quickly and precisely on his shirt. “I’ll send him back.”

Waters tilts his head. “So you didn’t bring him in here to steal my information?”

Q blinks curiously. “Why would I do that?” He honestly sounds as the idea has never crossed his mind.

Bond pulls at the cuffs, and the men holding his arms tighten his grip. Waters gives him a cursory glance; Q doesn’t so much as give him a look.

“Then you won’t mind if I put him out of commission.” Waters nods to one of the guards, who pulls a gun from his holster and presses it against Bond’s skull.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Q stands up. The guards move in closer, but he ignores him.

“Any why’s that?” Waters asks good-naturedly.

“Just because a prototype is faulty, doesn’t mean you should just chuck it out.”

“Or perhaps you’re too fond of him for your own good.” Waters suggests.

“I wouldn’t really concern yourself on that account.” Bond murmurs and Waters’ gaze returns to rest on him.

“So your maker doesn’t care for you?”

“Not a whit.” Bond says jauntily.

Waters is amused by this, Q can tell. Damn Bond. Now Waters is interested in Bond, whereas before he was ready to dispatch him and move on without a second thought.

“So tell me,” Waters waits, and of course Bond answers him.

“Bond, James Bond.” He gives Waters a charming smile.

“Well, Mr. Bond, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I assume you’re currently working for British intelligence.”

“You assume correctly.”

“And what of Q?” Waters glances at him, then back to Bond. “Is he part of your little team from MI6?”

“Does he look like the sort we employ?” Bond counters. “Look at him.”

For a moment Q almost thinks Waters buys it. But then the man sighs, and Q knows they’ve lost this round.

“I wish I could believe the both of you.” Waters’ voice has grown sad again. “But I’m afraid I can’t. Take them away.”

Bond takes the opportunity to smash the back of his head into the face of the guard nearest him. He jerks free of his grip as the man howls in pain, trying to make a grab for the gun but the other guard simply strikes him across the face with the butt of his pistol.

Waters produces a needle and inserts it into Bond's neck without hesitation. Bond’s eyes glass over and he slumps in the grip of guards.

“That wasn’t necessary.” Q tells Waters.

“I’m afraid it was, Q.” Waters selects another needle. “And I can’t have you causing any trouble while I decide what to do with you.”

The guards step in to grip his arms. Q considers struggling, but ultimately he knows it’s pointless. The needle slips thinly into his skin and he shivers, before he blacks out.


	9. Chapter 9

When Bond wakes, he’s restrained once again, wrists and ankles cuffed to a chair. His eyes focus and he finds Q is restrained similarly sitting opposite him. He sighs, tilting his head back slightly. There’s no easing the ache in his temple. There are two guards at the door across the room.

Bond’s lip is split, and half his face is bruised. There’s a nasty cut along his neck. Q catalogues the damage silently, then returns to where this started.

“What did Nikos say?”

“Nothing remotely of consequence.” Bond spits, blood hitting the floor. He eyes the guards. 

“So you decided to fuck up the mission just for the hell of it?” 

Q’s matter-of-fact tone brings Bond back to himself. “What?”

Q’s eyes are livid. “You couldn’t follow orders, just this once, could you? No, you had to start a bloody brawl.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you have everything under control? Were you managing this little plan to your satisfaction?” Bond snarls. 

“Yes, actually, I was.” Q’s cold with anger. 

Bond glares at him. “Well, it looked like a shitty job from my perspective.”

“You didn’t have to even be here.” Q says flatly. “I told you to go.” 

“Since when have I ever followed your orders?” Bond looks around the room. He can’t tell for certain, but he’d wager they were on the first floor of the hospital, most likely in an unused office or exam room. The paint’s stripped down, and there’s no furniture save for the chairs Q and he are tied to.

“As I recall, I have to be very persuasive to make you obey anything.” Q sighs. “Next time,”

The door opens and he shuts up. Waters strolls in. He examines the damage to Bond’s face and shakes his head before turning his attention to Q. 

“I’m sorry it’s come to this, but you left me very little choice, Q.”

“It’s completely understandable.” Q tells him. “I’d do the same thing in your position.” 

Bond snorts, and Q just ignores him. Waters looks at first one and then the other as if working out the pieces of a puzzle. He crouches down by Q’s chair. 

“One thing I’m most curious about,” Waters continues. “What happened? What could MI6 possibly do to gain your loyalty?” 

Waters sounds truly interested. For once Bond isn’t the most interesting captive in the room. It’s an entirely unique experience. He’s waiting for Q’s answer just as avidly as Waters. 

“Is that what you think happened?” Why does everyone think he’s suddenly loyal to Britain just because he’s enjoying his job?

Waters straightens up. “Why else would you choose one small island over helping me influence seven different countries?”

“I quite like their tea.” Q offers blandly. He’s doesn’t have to explain why he’s doing what he’s doing to anyone, but quite definitely not here. 

Waters chuckles. 

“What time is it?” Q inquires. His watch is currently under his sleeve and he can’t make out the hour. 

“I’m sorry,” Waters looks contrite. “Am I keeping you? Is there somewhere you need to be?”

“It’s rather important.”

Waters smiles, checks his watch and tells him the time. 

Q calculates that carefully. 

“Well?” Waters asks. “What does it matter what the hour is? Neither of you are going anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. The time matters because there’s an explosive device attached to my laptop.” Q tells him.

“It’s programed to go off in exactly one hour. Unless you release the both of us, it will detonate, and I assure you, you don’t want that to happen.”

“An explosive, Q? Really?” Waters sighs, disappointment evident in his voice. “Threatening to kill all of us unless I release the two of you? It’s rather overdramatic, you have to see that.”

“Sometimes a little drama gets the job done. It helps to be prepared in this sort of situation.”

“You expect me to believe you would truly rather kill all of us?” Waters clearly doesn’t believe it. 

“Have I ever given you reason to believe I would joke about such a matter?” Q keeps his focus directly on Waters, not looking at Bond. He’s made the decision. If it doesn’t work, well, that will be a pity.

“Now that you’ve alerted us to the presence of an explosive, you must know we’re simply going to deactivate it.” 

“By all means, do try.” Q can’t help smiling. 

It’s at that point that Bond realizes his body has grown relaxed, leaning back in his chair as he watches Q work. There’s something about that smile that amuses Bond. Whatever plan Q’s got up his sleeve, he’s the one in control, and now Waters knows it. 

Waters is unsettled now, pacing back and forth between the two chairs. “What do you expect me to do? Q? You can’t possibly expect me to just let you go.”

“Why not?” Q asks. “What’s your alternative? Would you rather waste the fruits of your labors, rather than release us?” 

“Ah, but’s that just it.” Waters waves his finger at him. “You know all those plans now.”

“If you let me go, I give you my word I won’t reveal them to another living soul.” 

Bond studies him. From what he’s seeing, Q certainly seems to be telling the truth. Then again, he could be lying through his teeth and Bond wouldn’t know for certain. 

“And what do I have really?” Q presses. “Locations. That’s all. You have the data, the files.”

“But you’d know where to look now.” Waters is still pacing, but now there’s a bead of sweat on the back of his neck. He checks his watch casually. 

“That’s true.” Q admits. “You’d have to get another programmer and rewrite the whole system. Still, isn’t that generally preferable than being, well, dead?”

Waters sighs. “What do you want?”

“Well, for starters, I’d like these handcuffs to be removed.” 

* * * 

“You should be a hostage negotiator.” Bond remarks as they’re on their way to the train station.

“Hardly my area.” Q gazes out the window. He checks his watch, then leans forward. “Could you drive a little faster, please?”

* * * 

The driver drops them at the train station and speeds off. 

Bond buys their tickets; Q purchases them each a tea. They drink them on the platform, waiting for their train, which is scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes. 

It’s decidedly the least dramatic escape Bond has ever made. 

It’s almost rather nice. 

* * *

It’s been twenty minutes since they were released. By now Waters is examining the laptop, figuring Q has deactivated the bomb as promised, no doubt trying to gather any information that he can from it before disposing of it. 

“Do you remember any of the files that you saw?” Bond asks once they‘re settled in their train compartment. 

“Naturally.” Q checks his watch. “Why?”

“I’m just glad the whole mission wasn’t a completely bloody waste.” Bond mutters tiredly. He doesn’t really want to discuss any of this right now. He wants to go home and they’d already bloody be there if they’d gone by plane. 

“Do you really have that little faith in me?” Q inquires. 

“Look, you tried, but, you’re right, fieldwork really isn’t your expertise.” Bond stops when he sees Q pushing up his sleeve. 

Q turns his wrist over, pushing a button on his watch and revealing a tiny flash drive. “All the information I deemed useful, plus some extras.” He rolls his sleeve back down. 

“I’m sorry.” Bond says after a moment of silence. “Should have known you’d literally have the solution up your sleeve.” 

“You really are incorrigible, you know that.” Q glances out the window.

“Yes, well, that’s why you like me.” 

Q suppresses a smile as he checks his watch again. Nearly time. He puts his hand in his pocket and draws out the detonator. It looks like a cigarette lighter, a little flashy for Q’s taste personally. 

“My turn to ask a question.” Q leans back against the train seat. “Did you kill that man?” 

Bond hesitates, then shakes his head. “I knocked him out and dumped him in a laundry hamper. Put in a request at the front desk for his room not to be bothered for forty-eight hours and left a Do Not Disturb sign on the door.”

“If they had checked up on any of that, they would have known you didn’t do it.” 

“I know.” 

“But you came back anyway.” Q pushes his glasses up on his nose. His first instinct is to ask why, but perhaps this isn’t the place. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Bond nods at it.

“Yes,” Q says simply, and pushes the trigger.


	10. Chapter 10

Bond needs a drink. The train rolls along, every mile taking them further and further from the events in Luxembourg.

The singular clarity of events won't leave him in peace. Bond is so accustomed to being the most dangerous one in the room, and suddenly he might not be. He wonders if he ever was.

The steward passes by their carriage and he orders a whiskey for them both. Q accepts his silently when Bond hands it to him. The whiskey soothes Bond’s nerves and he leans back in his seat, giving Q the once over.

"Why?"

"Are you seriously asking that question? You?" Q eyes him. "Britain is saved, and that's what I get in return?"

"Is that why you did it?" Bond leans in. "To keep Britain safe?" He doubts it most ardently.

"Of course not," Q straightens his tie. It certainly helped the situation at hand. It will take time for communications to reestablish itself between the other ports now that the crucial lab has been destroyed. However, that was only one of the factors into his decision of the moment. One of the other ones was Nikos. "I did it for you."

That’s something. Bond doesn’t even bother denying the warmth curling low in his groin. He drains his whiskey and sets the glass down. He kneels in the narrow aisle between the train seats.

"Well then, for that you get a blowjob."

Q raises an eyebrow. “Do I?”

Bond’s hands slunk up his thighs. “Yes. You do.” He unzips Q’s trousers, drawing him out languidly.

“Is this really the place for this?” Anyone walking down the train corridor could glance in their carriage window.

Bond smirks up at Q, ghosting his lips over the curve Q’s cock. “Absolutely.”

With each motion of his tongue, he paints over what he did with Nikos. This is present, this is now. Q’s body under his mouth, Q’s fingers curling affectionately in his hair. Bond hollows his throat, taking Q deeper and deeper, his hands creeping around to grab Q’s ass. The fingers tighten in his hair as Q’s hips cant upward, his spunk hitting the back of Bond’s throat. His own hands clutch at Q’s thighs as he swallows, and sits back.

Q’s hand drifts down to touch his cheek. There’s so much he wants to say to Bond, but when Bond looks up at him, he knows now isn’t the right moment. Bond leans into his hand for half a moment, and then straightens up to return to his own seat.

* * *

There’s a car waiting for them when they arrive in London. Bond holds the door for Q, and his hand brushes against the younger man’s shoulder as Q enters the car.

* * *

The drive to MI6 is blessedly short.

* * *

M is waiting for them when they arrive.

Q turns over the flash drive to her and she holds it for a moment, before speaking.

“You’ve done something extraordinary here. The two of you have worked excellently together,” She pauses, and Bond knows what she will say next before the words leave her lips, “But it doesn’t change anything.” She looks at Bond first, and then at Q. “I can’t have an agent and a quartermaster involved with each other. It’s served its purpose, and now you have to move past it. Is that understood?”

“Yes.” Q murmurs. He understands perfectly.

Bond slides his hands into his pockets. “So you let me fuck him as long as it was useful and now it’s over, just like that?” He doesn’t look at Q as he speaks.

M’s lips thin. “I told you the reasoning behind that, Bond.”

Q simply nods. “If it’s all the same to you, marm, in the future, I would prefer not to be sent out in the field with 007.”

“Very good.” M says. “I’ll make a note of it. You may both go.”

Bond strides out of the room ahead of Q.

Q slows his pace, letting the agent put several feet of space between them. He checks in at his desk to see if there’s anything he can take back home to work on, and then he leaves the office.

He’d expected the speech from M. No matter what the results of their mission had been, there wasn’t any cause for her to allow them to continue the relationship.

He hadn’t expected Bond to obey her though.

* * *

Yet a week goes by and Bond apparently does just that. There are no phone calls, no messages, nothing. He doesn’t show up on Q’s doorstep in the middle of the night or in the early hours of the morning. The left side of the bed remains empty.

Then Q thinks about it and it makes perfect sense. Bond never takes anything seriously, unless it’s handed down by M, and now, apparently at M’s command, he’s set Q aside.

It doesn’t account for the bitter disappointment that fills him when he sees Bond strolling through the office, perfectly at ease as though nothing had happened.

* * *

Bond flies to Montenegro and seduces the mistress of a drug lord. Q’s part of the recon team, overseeing the operation from the home office. It’s not a complicated mission. Q could handle it in his sleep.

There’s no need for him to listen in on the seduction, except he’s a professional, and he’s there in case Bond misses something, or needs something.

Every last gasp, moan and sigh Bond elicits from the woman makes Q feel odd. What is he feeling here? Jealousy? Is he jealous over some random woman that doesn’t matter in the slightest? This isn’t jealousy, is it? But it’s something close to jealousy as Q listens to the bed squeaking rhythmically and the soft velvety moans of the woman as Bond fucks her.

It’s different when Bond’s not coming back to him.


	11. Chapter 11

Q goes home to his new flat. It’s smaller than the house, obviously, and much better suited to his needs. It’s not freezing, and James Bond has never set foot in it, nor left his scent upon the sheets. He’s been working on some files he brought home for over an hour when the bell rings. He ordered Thai a while ago, and then forgot about it, so Q pulls the door opens and then pauses.

“You’ve moved house.” Bond observes.

“So,” Q says rudely.

Bond shrugs. “I thought,”

“Why are you here?” Q interrupts. The sooner Bond tells him, the sooner he can leave.

Bond rests his hands on the doorjamb, eyeing him. “Why did you tell me to run?”

“Because you couldn’t obey orders.”

“Not good enough.”

“So fuck off, it’s all you’re getting.” Q pushes at the door, and Bond just stands there, unmoving, and then he steps forward, Q steps back, and Bond closes the door behind him.

“Why?” Bond moves closer.

“I already told you.”

Bond grabs him, slamming him up against the wall. Q feels the thud against his back, registers the impact. This all feels familiar, he’s been here before.  

“Why?” Bond’s voice is rough.

Q can’t breathe. Bond’s fingers tighten mercilessly on his throat then, “Do you really have to ask?”

“Yes.” Bond needs this, needs Q to say. Needs to hear it, to believe. This time he can’t go on faith alone.

“Because I didn’t want you to die.” Q says. Bond feels the word vibrate against his fingers. “It was the only chance and I wasn’t going to let you waste it.” He regards Bond almost furiously. “I should have known you couldn’t do what I said, even to save your own bloody skin.”

“You’re a bastard,” Bond tells him.

“I know.”

Bond grips his jaw and slowly, almost reverently, presses his mouth to Q’s.

Q’s body doesn’t react. He can’t. Shock has finally overwhelmed him. He feels Bond’s mouth on his, his tongue slipping between his lips, and yet.

He pushes at Bond, “But why?” Why has Bond stayed away, if he still wants…

“I can play the long game when I choose to.” Bond murmurs, leaning into Q. He’s hard and Q _wants_.

“M doesn’t approve.”

“M doesn’t approve of many of my actions.” Bond presses his crotch against Q’s meaningfully. “Doesn’t stop me from doing them.”

Q’s hand slides down to cup Bond’s arse, pulling him closer. “You know what will happen when she finds out?” He almost doesn’t care, but Bond...Bond will care.

“Let’s wait and see, shall we?” Bond grazes his teeth against Q’s throat. And then their hands are moving, far too quickly for either of them to focus. Q gets his trousers down, Bond’s pushing into him dry and rough, fucking him like it’s what he’s been dying for, and Q wraps his legs around Bond’s hips, biting at his neck. Bond’s thrusting hard, slamming him hard into the wall. Q’s going to ache tomorrow, but now the pain is glorious.

Bond’s mouthing at him, in a trance, dazed, Q can’t tell. He’s beautiful, this broadsword of Q’s, and in that instant Q knows, whether it’s sentiment, and nostalgia, or purely the allure of danger, he doesn’t want to lose Bond. Moreover, he wants to keep him.

Bond lifts him then, raising Q almost all the way off his cock, until just the tip is still inside Q’s body, all the way off, and then slowly, eases him back down, making Q feel it. Q shudders, he’s sweating under his clothes and he’s going to come without even having his cock touched once. He clenches around Bond, holding him prisoner there.

“Why did you come back?”

Bond regards him. “I should have thought that was obvious.”

“Not entirely.” Q waits.

But Bond’s next answer disappoints him.

“Never leave a fellow agent behind.”

“Unless ordered to.” Q says coolly.

But Bond just smiles, “Unless ordered to.”

It can’t be that. If he had been just another agent, Bond would have taken the risk of going to get help. Either he thought Q couldn’t take care of himself (unlikely) or he had come back because,

Bond looks at him, heavy-lidded with lust. “I came back because I knew what they’d do to you if they found out I’d escaped.” _That you told me to run_.

“Oh?”

Bond catches his wrists, pressing them up against the wall above Q’s head. “You know exactly what they would have done?” He pulls out then and Q wants to moan at the absence.

“Yes,” Q doesn’t deny this. “But why should that worry you?”

Bond leans in, sucking at Q’s neck. “After all you’ve done,” his cock nudges back between Q’s thighs. “If anyone mangles this lithesome body of yours, it’ll be me.”

“Getting a tad possessive, are we?”

Bond looks up. “No.”

“Really.” Q bites his lip involuntarily as Bond slides back inside him. He’s tingling in all the right places, savoring the feel. Bond ups his speed and Q gasps as he shoots across Bond’s belly.

Bond’s fingers grasp at his backside, holding him there firmly as Bond’s cock jerks inside him till he’s spent.

Q leans back against the wall, and Bond just gazes at him.

“You don’t belong to one country, you couldn’t possibly belong to one person,” Bond says simply.

Q stares at him incredulously. “Good lord, what did they do to you?”

Bond chuckles, the sound vibrating through him, through Q.

“Come on,” Bond carries him into the shower, which normally was something Q would object to. But there’s something about it, about the way Bond is behaving that makes him keep silent.

Could he really understand?

 *  *  *

“Shouldn’t you be going?” He asks in the shower.

Bond turns on the showerhead, letting the water fall over them. “Do you want me to?”

“No,” But it’s not about that. It’s about if M finds out, and she will if they’re careless, and she will eventually even if they are careful. Q knows this as surely as Bond does.

“Then I’ll stay.” Bond straightens up and Q is reminded of how broad the man is. His skin prickles.

“All right.” Q’s hands find Bond’s chest, sliding across his nipples, down his torso, to his hips. Q pushes him back against the wall, sinking to his knees.

He sucks lightly at Bond’s foreskin, loving the way Bond shivers in his mouth. He pulls it back to lick delicately at the head, before taking him.

Bond’s fingers play through his hair. Q teases his ball-sac, letting Bond arch into his mouth. Q pulls off to suck at Bond’s balls, making Bond gasp.

“I’ve wanted to do this from that first cigarette.” Q says conversationally.

“My bound wrists.”

“Your disinclination to cooperate.” Q swipes his tongue along the underside of Bond’s cock. “I knew then, as I know now, that you were a fascinating problematic person.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Bond smiles.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with this. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. :)

Q turns over in bed and gazes down at Bond, who's stretched out on his back, still half asleep.

“What?” Bond murmurs. “What are you thinking?” He blinks sleepily at Q. “Tell me.”

“Why didn’t you come sooner?”

Bond raises an eyebrow. “Normally people don’t want that to happen.”

Q rolls his eyes. “Not that.” It’s not that he wants Bond to change, but it would be nice to have a serious conversation for once.

Bond’s hand slides under the sheets, wrapping around his cock. “What did you mean then?”

“After we got back, you waited a month to show up on my doorstep.” Q sucks in a soft breath as Bond’s nails scrape bluntly over his cock.

“You didn’t look me up either.” Bond points out.

“I wouldn’t have thought you wanted me to.” Q murmurs. He’d thought that was obvious.

Bond shakes his head. “No, you simply assumed that if one of us was going to go against the rules, it’d be me."

“Well.” Q waits for Bond to tell him he’s wrong about that. He doesn’t bother to remind Bond that for Q to go against the rules, he’d have to believe the rules mattered. He waits, and then he realizes what Bond’s saying. “So all of this was only a test.”

Bond shrugs. “I wanted to see what you would do.” His hand’s still caressing Q’s cock.

Q sits up, drawing away from Bond’s hand. “And I disappointed you.” He rests his elbows on his knees, thinking about that, thinking about Bond waiting to hear from him.

“No.” Bond goes back to staring at the ceiling.

“But,” How was he supposed to know that’s what Bond wanted him to do? Bond is the one who cares about the rules; Bond is the one who cares about things like that. Q was doing the right thing by leaving him alone. He was being _kind._

Bond lays his hand on Q’s wrist. “I would have been ecstatic if you had shown up on my doorstep, but it doesn’t matter in the long run,” he pauses.

“Your job,” Q starts, but doesn’t know where to go from there.

Bond understands. “Yours too.”

“It matters to you more.” Q doesn’t want to give Bond up by any means, but for this he's unsure. He doesn’t know what to do here. It’s beginning to be a familiar place involving Bond.

“Do you think I’m happy when you’re not there?” Bond’s fingers stroke over his knuckles. Q knows every last bone in Bond’s hand, but what matters is that it’s Bond’s hand.

“Are you happy when I am?” He asks the question absently.

“Something akin to that.” Bond leans over to kiss Q’s shoulder.

*  *  *

So this is what they do. They go to work.

Bond goes on missions. Q backs him up professionally from the lab. They keep their distance in the office.

At home Q presses Bond flat on his back, spreading his thighs wide and licking him open until Bond shudders under his tongue.

*  *  *

What Q doesn’t know is that Bond’s already had the talking to. M already knows they’re still fucking.

*  *  *

_Three days previously:_

Bond wanders off the elevator and is instantly summoned to M’s office. He goes reluctantly, knowing what she wants.

"Do you think I don't know what you're doing?"

Bond shrugs.

M sighs. "I told you this was supposed to stop."

"Maybe I don't want it to," He wonders if he imagines the way her eyes soften slightly.

"Bond, it won't work."

"You don't know that. And besides, I think we work far better together than apart."

"You heard him; he doesn't want to go into the field again with you,"

"I'm not talking about the field, marm. Trust me on this." For once Bond wishes she would.

M just looks at him. “He blew up a hospital full of people, and you’re still comfortable going to bed with him?”

Bond smiles slightly. “Yes.”

M raises her eyebrow, waiting.

“I wasn’t concerned.” Bond murmurs.

M looks at him hard. “No?”

“I know why he did it.”

 _It’s a curious thought. Is this what it feels like to be protected by someone?_ Bond thinks. _To be protected by a killer? Had Vesper felt so secure in his grip? So comfortable?_

M simply shakes her head. “I’m going to have him transferred.”

“No,” Bond says abruptly. “He’s good at his job. You should make him head of the department after the bloody risk you put him through.”

“Thank you for your input,” M's tone is as dry as the desert. “But really, Bond,”

“I can work with him,” Bond says tonelessly. “I’ll find someone else to fuck. Don’t worry.”

“I never meant to be cruel.”

Bond’s mouth twists. “You just didn’t think me capable of forming any kind of real emotional attachment.”

“That’s, not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He gazes at her long and hard. “I’ve seen my file.”

M’s eyes narrow. “Bond.”

“I’m going.” He goes and she’s left there alone in her office, wondering if she’s made a mistake.

 *  *  *

Time passes and Q can’t stop thinking about it. Bond waiting to see if he would show, if Q would give in first. He wonders what made Bond finally decide show up when he did, and then decides it doesn't matter. What matters is that Bond's here now.

Bond leans over the sink as he opens the wine. Q’s leaning in the doorway, watching him quietly.

“You’ll forgive me my current sins,” Q says quietly. “What about my past sins? I didn’t betray England this time, but what of the times I did?”

Bond regards him carefully. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Bond sets the wine down and comes over to him.

“I don’t particularly like the way you look at me when you know the things I’ve done.”

Bond raises his right hand, gazing at it, first the back of it, then turning it over to study his palm. “I killed someone last week with this hand.”

“In the service of queen and country.” Q says it by rote now.

Bond nods, and leans in to touch Q’s cheek. “And you still go to bed with me.”

“Are you excusing these deeds?”

“Do they keep you awake at night?”

“No,” Q admits, wondering if Bond will take his hand away. He takes a breath and waits.

“Then don’t,” Bond’s fingers brush along his jaw, down his neck, cupping the back. “Tell me.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I want to know, so M doesn’t have anything left to use.”

Q raises his eyebrows. “You think if I tell you about the British secrets, there’ll be nothing left to use.”

“You already know where my heart lies,” Bond kisses his neck, rough lips along Q’s skin. “I don’t give a damn about anything else.”

Q stiffens, unsure of whether to pretend he heard that or not. What does Bond mean by that?

His arms steal around Bond's neck, pulling him close so Q can whisper in his ear.

*  *  *

Unfortunately this sort of thing leads Bond to start thinking he can ask more questions, or that he needs to. Q’s not sure which it is any more.

“Where do you belong?” Bond asks one night in bed.

Q glances up from his laptop. “Does anyone really belong anywhere?”

 “Where were you born?” Bond amends the question.

Q is silent, then, “I was born in Italy. After being back once or twice, can’t say I really care for it. Rome is nice, but I wasn’t born there.”

Bond waits, trailing his fingertips over Q’s hip.

Q sighs, “My mother is Italian. My father, English. They settled in Sicily after they married. They’re still there, I believe.”

Bond blinks slightly. “They’re still alive.” For some reason he had imagined otherwise.

“As far as I know.” Q’s eyes drift back towards his laptop.

“You don’t know for certain.”

Q regards Bond. “I assume this is difficult for you to comprehend since your parents were taken from you at the age you were, but I don’t keep in touch with my parents. They’re nice, ordinary people, and as such we have nothing in common.”

“I think you’re nice.” Bond says, slides his fingers along the curve of Q’s arse.

“You think I’m mad,” Q states.

“No, that’s the thing.” Bond reaches over to push Q’s laptop out of reach. He sits up, leaning in close to Q’s cheek. “You don’t understand. My mother was very kind, very beautiful, and she lived for my father’s approval, and I didn’t.”

“You did at first.”

Bond’s lip twitches. “Yes, at first, until I realized it was impossible to achieve. What is the point in striving for something worthless?”

“Mine were.” Q pauses, trying to recall. His parents are a distant part of him, barely there, part of his DNA, but not truly part of him. “They didn’t understand me, and I grew tired of them trying and failing. I convinced them to send me to England for school, at the age of fifteen. Graduated when I was seventeen, and then…”

“Then you turned criminal.” Bond presses his lips to Q’s neck. He would have liked to see Q at seventeen.

“It wasn’t like that."Q says impatiently. "I've told you, I don’t see border lines like you do. I see information, what can that be used for. Secrets and the things people do for them. Beautiful, innovative technology,” Q pauses, “and those who reach further, usually have the best.”

“Who was your first lover?” Bond asks absently, flicking his tongue along Q’s collarbone.

Q sighs. “You don’t really pay any attention at all, do you?”

Bond straddles him, laying Q flat under him. The truth is, he sees what Q sees, but he simply can’t live like that. He belongs to Britain, body and soul. Possibly not soul. If he has a soul he doesn’t know where that belongs. As for his heart, it’s never belonged anywhere at all, except once before, and that had not ended well. Will this end any better?

At that thought, Bond’s reminded of that moment, being painfully, excruciatingly hard, dying for release and Q’s face, watching him impassively as he shows Bond that photograph of Vesper.

All that Q has done, what’s the point of it? Every last secret, scrap of personal information he's wormed out of Bond? For what? Does Q view him as his largest failure? He hasn't fully succeeded, after all. Is that why he's stayed? Conditioning Bond to him more and more, until one day, when he will succeed, and then he’ll go, leaving Bond finally alone?

Bond works his way down Q’s chest, remembering M’s words. He should go first, or let Q go.

 *  *  *

He doesn’t, of course.

*  *  *

M sends for Q one afternoon, ostensibly to give her the report on the Paris mission just completed, but when he’s done, and she asks him to stay a moment, Q’s not surprised.

M moves to stand by her window, her back to Q as she gazes out over London.

“You’re treading on dangerous ground, you know.”

“I know.” Q’s wary of every step.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” M tells him. “Because if you fuck this up, it will be very messy indeed.”

“I’ll do my best.”

M glances at him over her shoulder. “I believe you will.”

It's the closest thing to approval she can give them. Q's willing to take it.

*  *  *

It’s two in the morning. Q’s making tea. Bond’s doing pushups because he just returned from Munich and can’t sleep.

Q takes a sip of tea and watches him. “You’re going to collapse on the floor, and I’m going to just leave you there when you do.”

“I should drag you down here with me.” Bond grunts.

Q continues to watch him until Bond sits up, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“I know this is difficult for you to believe, but I do care for you.”

Bond raises an eyebrow. “Not so much, no.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Bond leans up on one knee. “You came back for that laptop, but you had most of your files already there with you. You could have gone anywhere, so what could you have possibly left on the original one that you wouldn’t take with you…” His eyes tell Q he knows full well.

Q shrugs, setting his tea aside. “First glimpses.” That’s all those files are.

“Still studying?” Bond touches his cheek.

“Still learning.” Q leans to kiss him. There’s so much more to Bond than what he learned in those first days. Q wants to know it all.

Q pulls back, gazing down at Bond. “I once told you I didn’t have any loyalties.”

“I remember.” Bond leans up between his thighs, settling his hands on Q’s knees.

“Well, it was true then, but not anymore.” Q gazes at him. “You. I’m loyal to you.”

Bond considers this, until he can’t hold his smile back any longer. “I suppose that will do.”


End file.
